The salesman mentioned that I would receive a survey. He wanted to make sure that I saw the email, opened it, and answered it the right way (all superlatives). I met the salesman’s boss. He let me know that a survey was coming. He verified my email. Did I know that it was important that I took the survey and gave them top marks? OY. I hate these silly surveys.
I received a letter from the business a week later. The envelope contained a thank you letter and a printed copy of the forthcoming survey. All of the questions had been helpfully answered just in case I had forgotten how wonderful the buying experience had been. They felt compelled to remind me how well I had been treated.
The survey finally arrived by email on Friday. I would have deleted it had I not promised the salesman, the only truly positive part of this whole process, my participation.
I dutifully checked the boxes. There was no point in providing a nuanced opinion or an honest answer. These are Pass/Fail, all or nothing tests. The business is judged a failure if all of the answers aren’t off the charts positive. But, the survey was incredibly long and I started to read the questions. I was supposed to check that I strongly agreed with a series of statements. Did I strongly agree that I love the item I purchased? Officially? Yes. And I was coerced into confirming that I now feel better about myself because I had made this transaction.
They’re screwing with us.
Knowing that these surveys are total BS, the companies are now extracting embarrassing answers from us. We are being punished for being nice.
I’m glad that my business doesn’t engage in this foolishness. Can you imagine purchasing a life insurance policy and getting a survey? “Tell us, Mrs. Jones, do you love Prudential?” Hell, I’ve been doing this for thirty-seven years and I don’t love the insurers.
And what happens if you change policies? Would the insurance company call you?
Hello, Mrs. Miller? This is Bupendra Smith with Intrusive Life. How are you today?
Fine. How can I help you?
We’ve just been alerted that you have lapsed your policy.
I no longer need it.
Mrs. Miller, you told us that you loved your policy. Your policy with Intrusive Life made you feel better about yourself. It completed you. Do those words mean nothing to you?
I think that I am done with surveys. I’ll threaten to answer honestly if anyone ever insists that I complete another.